“Of course she did. She’s an attorney . . . a damn fuckable attorney, but still an attorney . . . Just hand it over, will you?”

Michael Murphy sighed and grimaced, but dug the bag out of his pocket. Tapping it against his palm for a moment, he seemed to be trying to make up his mind. Pinning Zel with a dark scowl, he slowly extended the baggy and shook his head at the same time. “Don’t be stupid, okay?”

Zel took the bag and grinned at his manager, flashing the multi-million dollar smile that had helped to make him famous. “Stupid? Me? That hurts, man . . .”

Mike didn’t look like he was buying. “Sure, Zel, sure. I’m serious, all right? Don’t piss that broad off, okay? She’s the best shot you’ve got at the moment. Aw, hell, she’s the only bet you’ve got at the moment. You screw with her, and she could nail your balls to the wall.”

“Sounds like fun,” Zel quipped, stowing the marijuana into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

Mike heaved a heavy sigh and affected an even more austere stance. “Just keep that stuff at home, okay?”

“Don’t get all upper-ass-crack on me, Mike. I have a mother, remember?”

“She’d nail your balls to the wall, too, if she knew what you have in your pocket,” Mike predicted.

Zel shot him what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’. “Nah. My mama loves me. I’m her baby boy. Anyway, I’d be more worried about what my mama would do to you if she found out since you’re the one who bought the shit for me. That weapon of hers isn’t just for show, you know.”

Mike made a face, having seen the weapon in question once when he’d accompanied Evan in a quick trip to Maine. Gin and Cain Zelig had been practicing in the back yard. To be more precise, Gin was practicing, targeting apples sitting on wooden blocks with the razor-sharp kusarigama—a scythe-like blade attached to a twenty-five-foot chain that extended at will with a heavy lead ball on the other end—while Cain sat back and made borderline-lewd commentary to his diminutive wife.

“Your parents are something else,” Mike remarked. “I’ve never seen people like them before.”

Zel stiffened and slowly turned to eye his manager. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike shrugged, missing the blatant irritation in Zel’s expression. “They still act like a couple teenagers. It’s interesting. Hell, my parents haven’t ever acted like that . . . probably didn’t even do it when they were teenagers . . .”

“They’re happy together.”

“That’s a new way to say it.”

Zel snorted. “What are you implying?”

“Well, after meeting them, it doesn’t surprise me that you act like a horny kid all the time.”

“Horny, maybe. Kid? Do I look like a fucking goat?”

Mike rolled his eyes but grinned as he lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood of his late-model Corvette. “Teenager, then.”

Zel cut his manager off with nothing more than the tell-tale arching of one eyebrow. “Zel, remember?” he grumbled under his breath. Mike rolled his eyes as Evan went on. “The partying and drinking, I can live without. I can even go awhile without this stuff. The pussy? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I don’t think she was kidding.”

“Look, Mike . . . I promise I’ll keep my nose clean. I won’t go out of my way to get any, but it if should happen to offer itself . . .”

Mike sighed. “You have the most perverted way with words, Roka.”

“Besides that, I have a date with twins tomorrow night. You don’t seriously think I can pass that up, do you?”

“Twins?” Mike echoed, smiling slightly despite his resolve not to encourage Evan in any way, shape, or form.

Evan nodded. “Oh, yeah . . .”

“Can’t say that I blame you for not wanting to miss that,” he admitted.

Evan chuckled and waved as he loped over to his motorcycle and revved the engine. Mike yelled something—probably telling him to put his helmet on—and Evan took off, leaving a loud squeal of rubber on asphalt and the stench of gas fumes in his wake.

Revving the engine again as he waited impatiently for the traffic light to change from red to green, Evan sighed and scowled at the asphalt under the tires of his Harley.

It used to be so easy, didn’t it? Being Zel Roka the rock star was simple: act stupid . . . be loud and obnoxious . . . fuck lots of girls . . . make music. He’d lived with both sides of his personality for years, and outside of his family, precious few knew who he really was: five that he could name off the top of his head. Michael knew. He’d been introduced to Mike through Ben Philips, Evan’s father’s business manager and the head of Cain Zelig’s generals. Though Evan knew damn well that Mike would be stupid to pass up a chance ingratiate himself to the current North American tai-youkai, he didn’t delude himself into believing that that was the only reason that Mike would offer to oversee Evan’s musical career. Evan had insisted that he wanted his family kept out of any sort of limelight; wanted to protect them from any scandal that might happen in the life of a rock star, and Michael had worked hard to bury the trail that led back to Evan Zelig and his family in Maine. Bone, the head of Evan’s personal security team, knew the truth. Bugs, the flamboyantly gay owner of the Bunny Hole Lounge—the club where Evan had been ‘discovered’ by Wicked Soundsations Records’ talent scouts—knew it, too. Dieter also knew it. It was hard to hide something like that from other youkai, after all . . .

And then there was Madison.

He’d grown up with Madison. She was one of the few people he actually called a friend. Her mother, Kelly had been lifelong friends with Evan’s older half-sister, Belle. Madison, too, was youkai, and her father was one of Cain’s primary hunters, a rough and gruff polecat-youkai that everyone called by his last name: Cartham.

They’d first met when Kelly had come over during one of Belle’s visits to Maine. Evan had been four at the time. Madison had just turned three. They’d hit it off immediately—if one could call Evan stealing Madison’s doll and heaving it into one of the hulking oak trees that lined the driveway ‘hitting it off’. She’d started to cry, and Evan had climbed the tree to retrieve the toy, only to get stuck in the top branches. His father had to rescue him, chastising him the entire time for teasing girls, and Evan had given back the doll with a red face and a mumbled apology.

They’d been friends ever since, and while Evan liked to think that Madison was the main instigator, he had to admit that they’d both been in their fair share of trouble over the years, and it was his fault as often as it was hers.

He grinned. ‘You just never forget that first fuck, do you?’

‘And Cartham would have your balls for dinner if he ever found out you screwed his daughter, Evan . . .’

‘Which is why neither Madison nor I will ever, ever tell him.’

True enough, they’d been each other’s firsts. Never mind the entire experience had been rushed and clumsy, and never mind that he and Madison disagreed about the actual first time since they’d tried once before that, but Madison asserted that Evan hadn’t actually gotten it in. He knew damn well that he had—at least, that was what he always told Madison whenever the subject came up. In truth, though, he knew well enough that the real first time had been later—the time that Madison acknowledged. Evan doubted he’d actually thrust more than a time or two before he hit his orgasm, and then he’d been absolutely beside himself when he discovered that he’d made her bleed. Hell, he’d barely gotten the damn condom rolled on, if he remembered correctly—the anticipation, he figured, at actually getting to have sex, to start with . . . He’d gotten much better at it over the years, and he’d certainly paid Madison back for the terrible first time; probably a thousand times over. They weren’t exactly lovers; just good friends who had a healthy respect for each other’s bodies, he supposed. It was something that they both wanted, and they both knew that there was nothing in it other than mutual satisfaction.

Back then, he’d still been Evan Zelig, youngest son of the North American tai-youkai and famous artist, Cain Zelig, and his mate, Gin Izayoi Zelig. His grandfather on his mother’s side was the notorious ‘angry hanyou’ of legend, InuYasha, and his grandmother? Well, she was very likely the most powerful miko in the world. His great uncle was the Inu no Taisho, Sesshoumaru Inutaisho, while his mother’s cousin, Toga was the reigning Japanese tai-youkai . . .

His uncle—or brother-in-law, depending on who he was speaking to—was one of the most celebrated youkai surgeons and clinical researchers in the world, Kichiro Izayoi. The confusion came into play because Kichiro was his mother’s brother but was married to Evan’s half-sister, Bellaniece, too. It was always a source of irritation between Gin and Cain since Cain refused to acknowledge that Dr. Fill-In-The-Blank was married to his daughter from his first marriage, while Gin stubbornly insisted on pointing out just how happy Belle and Kichiro were, and that Cain should be happy that his daughter found a mate who adored her.

The oldest of his mother’s twin brothers, Ryomaru had carved out quite a name for himself as one of the best youkai hunters in Japan and then some, and his youngest uncle was a corporate attorney. Evan didn’t doubt for a second that Uncle Mikio would excel in his chosen profession, too—if he could keep himself alive that long. He was the biggest klutz that Evan had ever seen . . .

And then there were his siblings.

Evan sighed and gunned the engine as he sped down the street, grinning just a little and shaking his head at the catcalls he got from women he passed on his way. ‘Only in New York City . . .’

His siblings . . .

It hadn’t really helped, being born nearly ten years after his brother, Sebastian—Bas, for short—and even worse, Bas was damn near perfect, right down to his absolutely gorgeous wife and mate, Sydnie. Never mind that Bas was in line to be the next North American tai-youkai, the older brother was, by all accounts, smarter, tougher, stronger, and basically exactly like their father with the only real exception being that Sebastian, unlike Cain, didn’t possess even an ounce of humor in his upper-ass-crack body.

Chuckling to himself, he slowed down as he noted the traffic light ahead changing from green to yellow.

All right, so that was a little harsh. As much as the brothers bickered and fought, Evan had to admit that, as a child, he’d absolutely idolized Sebastian. He used to follow Bas everywhere which never ceased to irritate the living bejesus out of Bas, and yet . . .

And yet, as much as it had to irk him, Bas had never really tried to shake Evan off, either.

Of course, in Evan’s opinion, everything had pretty much leveled out between them through the years. After all, Bas might well be in line to be the next tai-youkai—as if Evan had ever really wanted that dubious distinction—but Evan was far, far better with the ladies . . .

Then there was Jillian, and Jillian, it was safe to say, was everybody’s baby. Most people thought that Jillian and Evan were twins, and Gin and Cain had let people think it. She, like Evan, had silvery white hair like their mother and blue eyes like their father though Jillian’s were more of an icy aqua than the deep sapphire hue that Cain and Evan shared. Only those close to the family had known that Jillian was adopted, and the world at large knew the girl as one of the highest paid cover girls of all time.

Evan snorted. ‘Black sheep, my ass.’

Maybe that was the real reason that Zel Roka had been created. In the perfect world of the Zelig family’s little empire, Evan, the youth who’d spent days and nights on end, hammering out little songs in the soundproofed basement of the Zelig mansion where he could make as much noise as he wanted without disturbing the more straight-laced members of the family, had grown up feeling as though he existed on the very fringes of the seemingly-perfect world. Always dreaming about that one song that could define his entire life, reaching for the newest sound, the latest groove, Evan hadn’t ever been like anyone else . . .

Or maybe he was the most like his father, after all.

Cain was an artist. Reclusive with shy tendencies that had lessened over his years with Gin, deep inside, Cain was still the quiet dreamer, the artist who could create or destroy a universe with the simple stroke of a brush; with paint on canvas or carved in clay or stone, and maybe in that, Evan was more like his father than even Sebastian could ever hope to be . . .

In any case, he was both, wasn’t he? Zel Roka, the rock star, and Evan Zelig: the son, the brother, the screw-up.

The trouble was that the disguise and the security that had come with the ability to don one persona or the other . . .

It was wearing thin.

-Valerie-

“Ho w was it?”

Letting go of the door, Valerie made a face and stepped back, shuffling aimlessly into her living room as she tried to think of a diplomatic way to tell Madison that she thought Zel Roka was a complete and utter ass. “It . . . was . . .”

Madison sucked in her breath. “That bad?”

Valerie snorted. “He calls me, ‘V’.”

“V?”

“Yes, V.”

“I hesitate to ask but . . . why?”

Sparing a dark glance over her shoulder before flopping onto the sofa with a grunt, Valerie covered her eyes with her forearm and sighed. “Because he’s a jerk.”

“No, seriously . . . why ‘V’?”

“He drew it on a piece of paper and showed me and said it was me, flat on my back with my legs . . .” Trailing off as she considered the rest of what he’d said, she growled and waved her hands as though to disburse whatever mental image the words had created in Madison’s head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter what he said. He’s a jerk. There’s no way I’m representing him, so forget it.”

“Said, what?”

Flipping her feet around as she sat up, Valerie shook her head and heaved another sigh. “Never mind. It’s not worth repeating.”

“Really? So why are your cheeks all red?”

Valerie grimaced. “Because it’s hot in here.”

“It is not.”

“Well, I say it is.”

“All right, then . . . I’ll just ask Zel.”

“You do that.”

“You’re really not going to represent him?”

The grimace shifted into a groan. “Are you nuts? Of course not. He’s unsalvageable, you know. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I have a full workload now, and I’ll tell you the truth: Zel Roka doesn’t need an attorney; he needs a nanny.”

Madison laughed, waving her hand as she brushed off Valerie’s condemnations. “He’s really not so bad,” she asserted. “Zel’s just a little misguided and a little . . .”

“Obnoxious?” Valerie asked with a pointed quirking of her brow when Madison faltered.

Madison waved her hand and giggled. “I never said I don’t have feelings for him,” she contradicted. “I adore him. I always have. There’s just never been that . . . that . . . spark, you know? That churning in the belly just from seeing him—all that jazz . . . he’s comfortable; he’s familiar . . . I love him. I’ve just never been in love with him.”

“I suppose you’re right . . . True love and all that . . . It’s completely over-rated,” Valerie scoffed, striding off toward the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge. “Just look for someone who’s dependable; that’s what I say.”

She didn’t have to look to know that Maddy was making a face. “Like Marvin, you mean?” she grumbled.

Madison snorted loudly. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this particular conversation, and as much as Valerie would like to think otherwise, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last, either. “You know, Valerie, you buy a car because it’s reliable. You don’t marry someone because they’re reliable.”

Valerie heaved a sigh and waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, you’re putting words in my mouth. Marvin’s great. He’s got a good personality, a great temperament, and I do love him, but he’s also reliable, and that’s what I need.”

Madison rolled her eyes and slowly shook her head. “You’re right, Valerie . . . you can depend on good ol’ Marvin. You can depend on him to delay your wedding yet again. You can depend on him to be away all the time, and you can depend on him to be a completely self-centered bastard in bed. I mean, if you’re going to marry someone as dull as dishwater, the least you can do is get a good fuck out of it. You’re not even getting that, sweetie . . . I think you should just kick him to the curb and tell him to step the hell off, and don’t think for a second that I didn’t make note of the fact that love was the least of your concerns.”

“Okay, at moments like this, I swear to God, I don’t know you,” Valerie grumbled.

“And now you know where Zel gets it, hmm? Come on, V . . . the point here is that, like it or not, Marvin is just not good enough for you. You’re young, right? Live it up! Sleep around, play the field, and when you’re old and your boobs start to sag, then you can marry someone as lifeless as Marvin-The-Insanely-Dull.”

Valerie shoved the refrigerator door closed and strode over, handing Madison a Corona Extra and flopping down in a chair. “He’s not insanely—did you just call me ‘V’?”

“Yes, I did,” Madison remarked as she carefully twisted the cap off her beer.

“Mad-dy!”

Madison blinked innocently. “Let’s face facts, V. You’re hot. Smokin’. If I were a lesbian, I’d be all about getting into your panties. Zel’s right. You with your legs spread? I can see why he’d want to see that . . . Hell, I’d like to see it, myself . . . Bet you have a really pretty little puss-puss . . .”

Fighting down the livid blush that stained her pale skin crimson, Valerie shook her head and rolled her eyes, draining half of her beer in one long gulp. “You’re just as nuts as Zel is,” she grumbled just before she broke into a catty grin that peeked out around the edges of the beer bottle neck. “Would you really?”

“What for?” Valerie asked as Madison shoved her forward and stood up, grabbing Valerie’s hands and pulling her off the sofa. “Maddy! What are you—?”

“Strip!”

“What?̶ 1;

“Strip! Strip!”

“Wh—? I—No!”

“Oh, come on! I just got a new cell, and I can get a quick snapshot of you . . . bet Zel would cream his jeans if he saw your breasts! I swear to God, you have the best nipples I’ve ever laid eyes on . . . Please?”

“Absolutely not! I’ve let you talk me into some really bizarre things in the past, Madison Cartham, but I am not—am not—bearing my breasts to give some jaded rock star something to stare at while he . . . defiles himself!”

Madison laughed but let go of Valerie’s hands. “All right, but just so you know? I’ll bet he’s home right now spanking the monkey while he’s remembering you.”

“Oh, I feel so violated,” Valerie groaned, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands. She peeked up a moment later and slowly shook her head. “Did you say ‘new’ cell?”

Madison snapped her mouth closed as her cheeks pinked just a touch. “Yeah.”

Valerie sighed. “You lost your other one, didn’t you? How many cell phones have you lost this year so far?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rejoined. “It started with my virginity and just went downhill from there.”

“Oh, Maddy, you poor baby . . .”

Madison suddenly shot her a sly smile, and Valerie had a feeling that they were about to change topics again. “So tell me the truth: I swear to God that I won’t tell Zel . . .”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Valerie insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. “What’s your question?”

“Would you do him? If you weren’t engaged to Marvin, and if you just met him somewhere . . . would you?”

“No!” Valerie insisted.

“Uh hu-u-u-uh . . .” Madison drawled as she flopped down and rubbed Valerie’s back. Valerie opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but Madison relented, waving a hand to stave off whatever Valerie was about to say in self-defense. “Okay, okay . . . I’ll drop it for now . . . Let me take you out to dinner to make up for it.”

“Hrumph,” Valerie muttered without uncovering her face. “Italian?”

“Italian, huh?”

“. . . Yes.”

Madison laughed. “You got it, V. Whatever you want.”

“And you’re paying,” she reminded her.

Madison grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her face with a giggle. “Absolutely.”

“. . . Okay.”

“You won’t regret it, V. Now let’s go have some fun.”

Valerie’s answer was a low groan, but she let Madison drag her toward the door just the same. Why was it that whenever Madison said that she wasn’t going to regret something, she normally did . . .?

“Lighten up a little,” Madison remarked as Valerie grabbed her purse off the table by the door. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

== == == == == == == == == ==FinalThoughtfromValerie:
… V …?
==========Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters inSubterfuge): I do not claim any rights toInuYashaor the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.